


kilig.

by izzyasavestheday (stilessexual)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10074200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilessexual/pseuds/izzyasavestheday
Summary: Once upon a time, in a world where the Nephilim did not win the Uprising (and, well, as those things go, neither did Valentine) (there are no winners in war there is only loss)—There was only loss, for so long.Raphael met Simon; like the long-awaited sunrise in the aftermath of the destruction the Nephilim wrought.~~~“Since we’ve met, I feel you.” Simon tapped his chest. “Right here. I feel you in my fingers. Different from the Sire bond, but similar. Is this what having a Clan is like?”“No,” Raphael answered, immediately. “No, having a Clan feels like so much more.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> this work is not beta'd, please excuse any errors I'm only an exhausted student.

Raphael met Simon Lewis on a Sunday—

Naturally, of course.  

(Raphael met Simon like worship, worship, _worship_ )

The Uprising happened and ended; Valentine did not win but neither did Nephilim. Their battle destroyed everyone in its path and left everything as collateral. It took everything that Raphael held dear. It took his family and his home –it took Elliot and Stan and Derek and Lily. The Uprising took Lily. (Even Camille couldn’t escape its grasp.)  The Uprising even took the everlasting Nephilim, pushed the Seelies to the very edges of their existence, away, away, away from mankind’s greed. It forced the warlocks into hiding and weakened the werewolves down to nothing. It took his Clan. It took his Clan. It took his Clan.

It took his family.

Not a day passed that Raphael didn’t wish the Uprising took the very last of the Magic from the world –stripping him of everything that kept him animated—and took him too.

(but that would take Magnus and Raphael was sure, absolutely positive, that the Universe would collapse in on herself –a black hole that would suck them into nothingness— the day Magnus was no longer alive.) 

The very moment, the very second, the very instant Raphael walked into that godforsaken bar that Mia stubbornly kept open, he sensed Simon.

(Later, he’d know his name. Later, later, later. All Raphael knew at that moment was the warmth of being in the proximity of another vampire for the first time in years.)

 Simon, Simon, _Simon_. Beautiful Simon, who had his head thrown back, mid-laughter, in a display of the most genuine happiness Raphael had had the fortune of witnessing in years.

Raphael’s body quickly reacted to the presence of another Night Child, a warmth he hadn’t felt in so long started at the very tips of his fingers and all he could think was _run run run run run—_

Across the paradoxical room –huge and small, it was endless and suffocating, he was so far from Raphael yet right there, he was right _there_ — Simon’s laugh stuck halfway in his throat. Raphael watched, something akin to horrified, unmoving like prey, as the other scanned the room trying to find the source of his disturbance.

“Simon?” the redhead sitting across from him asked. “Hey, you okay?”

“Sorry,” Raphael zeroed in on the cadence of _Simon’s_ voice. “Sorry, Clary, I have to—

Raphael’s feet finally, finally responded to the panicked, loud stream of thought in his mind. He quickly found his way back onto the darkness of the street. He ran. He ran.

He ran.

“ _Stop._ ”

Simon grasped Raphael’s forearm.

Raphael didn’t realize just how cold he’d been until Simon touched him –skin like fire, fire, fire.

“Please,” Simon whispered. “I haven’t met another—

He lost Lily last. Lily took with her the very last warmth of the sun and Raphael swore an oath that he’d never allow himself to be that vulnerable ever again, no matter the cost to his sanity.

“I can’t,” Raphael cleared his throat roughly. “I can’t do this. Please, let me go.” 

“What?” Simon whispered, dumbfounded. “No, listen, please—

“Let me _go_.”

He snatched his hand out of Simon’s warmth and hated himself. Raphael hated himself.

~*~*~*~

“…and cleanse me from my sin.” the whispered words tripped and stuttered on their way out of his mouth. The gold cross clutched painfully tight between his palms hadn’t burned him in years but now he wished it did, if only to feel anything other than _this_. “For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight.”

Magnus sat down quietly beside him. He listened to him pray. 

“So that you are justified in your sentence and blameless when you pass judgment,” Raphael rasped. He was so angry. He was so tired. He was so cold. “Indeed, I was born guilty, a sinner when my mother conceived me.”

_Simon Simon Simon._

He could no longer push the words past his lips. Raphael pressed his palms to his eyes until colors exploded behind his lids.

Magnus rubbed gentle circles over his back.

“My dear Raphael,” he whispered. “I haven’t seen you like this in years. Not since—

(Not since Lily.)

“Magnus,” he nearly groaned. “Magnus, why did we survive? What have we done to deserve surviving without everyone we love?”

Raphael always thought that Magnus’ eyes gave his age away. Ancient, ancient, tired eyes. Eyes that had seen the rise and falls of civilizations and still, somehow, had the capacity to be everlastingly kind.

A miracle, Magnus was.

“Are you going to let me in on what happened,” Magnus said softly, “or are you going to continue to be the most dramatic creature I have ever had the misfortune—

Raphael scrubbed his face roughly; a soft laugh escaped his mouth, despite him, despite the weariness in his bones.

“There is,” he inhaled unnecessarily, it did nothing to calm him. “I met someone today. Another vampire.”   

Magnus quickly wrapped a hand around the back of Raphael’s neck and pulled him into an embrace so tight –like he was willing Raphael back together through the sheer force of his grip.  

“You met a Night Child?” Magnus asked into Raphael’s soft strands. Raphael nodded into his friend’s chest. “Raphael, that is wonderful.”

“Is it?” he asked.

“Oh, Raphael.”

“I feel him,” Raphael rasped. “I feel him like the sun, Magnus. I can’t do this again. I can’t feel this again and lose him and—

“Hush,” Magnus rocked Raphael, gentle, gentle, gentle. Like he did when Raphael was turned all those years ago. The same way he held Raphael when he lost the last member of his Clan. He stood by Raphael through every calamity that had ever befallen him. “You left the best part of the prayer out, my friend.”

Raphael made a questioning sound; his sluggish mind couldn’t comprehend his friend’s statement.

“Create in me a clean heart, O God” Magnus whispered into Raphael’s hair. “and right spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing heart.”

“Amen,” Raphael gasped against the tight ache of tears in his throat –for all that he’d lost, and all that he’d gained.

~*~*~*~

Raphael found him, again.

Naturally.

(Not that he’d been looking. Not that the days between meeting him and seeing him again weren’t a blur of waiting and wanting and wishing that somehow this had a happy ending.)

Simon took him in with wide, curious eyes.

“I’m not very old,” he explained. “In human or vampire years.”

Raphael quirked a brow. He hoped, desperately, that he came off as uninterested. Anything but desperate for anything Simon was willing to give. Absolutely anything at all.

“When she turned me,” Simon whispered. “She told me about the Uprising. She explained that Magic was dying out. That it was taking everything with it. I think she was trying to rebuild her Clan.”

Raphael drank him in. Only just barely a fledgling, he realized.

“I don’t know though,” Simon whispered. “She disappeared a few months later, and I—

Simon vaguely gestured to his chest, “I stopped feeling her awhile ago. I’ve been alone since.”

Raphael called on everything in him to finally utter, “How long has it been?”

“Five years,” Simon replied. “Only I wasn’t, was I? I had my friends and my family, and they’re batshit crazy. When I finally told them about the vampire thing they just rolled with it. Clary’s dad, Luke, is a werewolf. Her mom was a Shadowhunter but she died fighting Valentine.”

Raphael worked his jaw against the visceral reaction the mere mention of the Nephilim –even dead Nephilim, even the ones that fought the Circle— still evoked in him. He focused on the brightness of Simon’s brown eyes to will away the red that tinged the edges of his vision.

He couldn’t help but hate them for that that’d done, protectors of the earth. 

What a fucking joke.

 “But I was still so alone,” Simon went on, voice shaking. He cleared his throat roughly but Raphael read the anguish of loneliness clear, clear, clear in the slight shake of hands. The Night Children were never meant to survive on their own, no matter the rest of the world’s opinion of them. “It took me years to realize it was because I didn’t have a Clan.”

He laughed weakly. “I mean, shit, I barely knew anything about the Shadow World, let alone about being a vampire. How was I supposed to know that the gapping cold hole in my chest was because I needed a Clan to survive?”  

“I’m sorry,” Raphael said. He was, sincerely. Raphael couldn’t picture surviving the early years without his Clan. “I truly am.”

Simon watched him, brown eyes wide wide wide, Raphael wanted to look away and never break eye contact. He wanted to stay. He wanted to leave. There were no words in this language to encompass the mess of feelings fighting for dominance in Raphael’s chest.

“Since we’ve met, I feel you.” Simon tapped his chest. “Right here. I feel you in my fingers. Different from the Sire bond, but similar. Is this what having a Clan is like?”

“No,” Raphael answered, immediately. “No, having a Clan feels like so much more.”

Simon’s jaw clenched. He nodded, understanding.  

“It’s probably bad,” he said, “that I’m wishing that we find more vampires, rights? ‘Cause that means I’m wishing that someone was Turned, meaning they were _killed_ , probably violently if I’m comparing it to how I died, which, let me tell you—

(we, we, we)

Raphael made a soft questioning noise, “You always talk this much?”

A laugh escaped Simon suddenly, gorgeous, gorgeous, leaving nothing but a sweet aching between Raphael’s sore ribs. “Almost always. This is me controlling myself, actually.”  

(He wanted to stay.)

Raphael stared and stared and stared.

Simon cleared his throat roughly, the very faintest of pink tints on his cheeks.

“You haven’t even told me your name,” 

“Raphael,” he answered quickly. “My name is Raphael Santiago.”

“Raphael,” he repeated. Raphael’s tired, old heart gave a mighty lurch at the way his name rolled off of off Simon’s tongue. “You know, not to sound super creepy or anything considering this is our first, you know, official meeting but I’d be okay if it were just us.”

Raphael tilted his head questioningly.

Simon gestured to himself than back to Raphael.

“I think I’d be okay,” he explained, “if you were my Clan.”

_Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing heart._

Raphael’s poor, poor heart just about gave out on him and he smiled wide. The expression felt almost unfamiliar on his face.

“Let’s see if you still feel that way in a hundred years or so.”

Simon’s answering laugh was the brightest thing Raphael had ever heard.

~*~*~*~

Magnus flutter nervously around the apartment. He straightened already straightened vases and checked for dust on the tables despite the fact that they both knew he’d already dusted half a dozen times. Nervous energy radiated off of him in suffocating waves –for once, Raphael was grateful he didn’t have a werewolf sense of smell, he could almost taste the acid of Magnus’ anxiety.

“Magnus,” Raphael sighed, exhausted just watching him.

“Sorry!” his friend quickly replied. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just so nervous. I’m so excited to meet Seamus.”

“Simon.”

“Whatever,” Magnus rushed towards the kitchen to check on the food and rushed back out to straighten the rug. On his third pass, Raphael caught the sleeve of Magnus’ shirt and forced him to a halt.

Raphael looked up at his friend, who was actively avoiding his gaze and said, “Talk to me.”

Magnus’ mouth twisted one way and another.

“I want this night to be perfect.”

“It is,” Raphael replied, confused. “It already is, Magnus. Trust me, Simon isn’t too difficult to impress. When I asked him for meal preferences he went on a rant about how much he misses fries and ice cream.”

Magnus turned to look at him, eyes so gentle, Raphael had to look away for a moment.

“Look at you,” Magnus whispered, he gestured vaguely around Raphael’s head. “you get so soft around the edges when you speak about him.”

Raphael cleared his throat roughly.

“I absolutely do not.”

“You do,” Magnus replied, gentle. “and it’s not only because he’s a Night Child.”

Raphael’s cheeks felt _hot_ against the flush that spread through him at the implication and he cleared his throat once more. He couldn’t lie to Magnus if he tried, even if he actually wanted to.

“He’s special,” he explained haltingly. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Magnus hummed happily. “You don’t have to, dear. I just do love seeing you like this.”

Raphael ducked his head, brow furrowed in embarrassment. “He’s surrounded by children that would’ve been Shadowhunters. The Lightwoods. His best friend’s mother was Valentine’s wife.”

“Wow,” Magnus swayed on his heels. “Wow. There’s a certain sense of irony to this, isn’t there? How we never escape the Nephilim.” 

Raphael snorted. “It’s something, I don’t know if it’s irony.”

 Magnus watched him for a moment. “Now, Raphael, no need to darken your mood your darling Shannon is here.”

“Damnit, Magnus—

The doorbell rang, Magnus rushed to it on light feet.

“Simon,” he exclaimed warmly, surprising Simon by pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Raphael’s been a nervous wreck all day.”

Raphael bit back a smile at his friend’s ridiculous antics.

“H-hi,” Simon replied, blinking bewilderedly up at Magnus. “Wow, hi. I didn’t know what an appropriate host gift was, considering, so I went with flowers. I hope you like flowers.”

“I do, they’re lovely dear, thank you.” Magnus ushered him inside.

If Raphael were human, his hands would be undoubtedly clammy at the sight of Simon decked out in a white button-up and blue jeans. His hair was swept up all over, lovely lovely lovely.  

“Hey you,” Simon smiled crookedly and made his way towards him. He leaned forward just _so_ and pressed his lips against Raphael’s cheek, too close to his lips –brazen really, considering, but Raphael’s old heart really just couldn’t keep up anymore.

“Apparently,” Simon whispered in his ear. Magnus took this as his cue to rush away into the safety of the kitchen. “You’ve been a nervous wreck all day.”

 (Could you ache for someone like this? Was that allowed? Was it selfish or even sane to want Simon only for himself –so soon after meeting him? Would the Universe allow Raphael this kindness?)

Raphael pressed a hand to the small of Simon’s back (a miracle, what a miracle) and gently guided him to the kitchen.

“Come on, Lewis.” Raphael whispered. Simon’s face was so close to Raphael’s, he thought it would actually kill him. “Magnus has been agonizing over tonight’s menu for weeks.”

Magnus’ voice boomed from his hideout in the kitchen.

“I can _hear_ you, Santiago.”

~*~*~*~

In their first few moments alone, Clary’s eyes were sharp, sharp, sharp on him –like a hunter, like he was prey. Raphael could easily believe that she could be a Shadow hunter –he could smell angel blood on her skin, even with his sense of smell.

(He knew if they kept shoving more Downworlders into these children’s lives that they may just trigger their angelic abilities. He knew this could mean the rebirth of the Nephilim in New York. He both loathed and longed for the very notion of it.)  

“So,” she said. “You’re a vampire.”

He counted down from ten to stop from rolling his eyes. He desperately wanted to like her, if only for Simon’s sake.

“I am, yes.”

She nodded, hands in knots in her lap –once more, just a barely 20 something art student, worried sick about her vampire best friend.   

“You’ll take care of him, right?”

Raphael blinked. “Excuse me?”

“When I die,” she explained patiently, “and Rebecca dies and his mom dies. When everyone he knows is gone, you’ll still be there, right? You won’t leave him alone?”

He thought of the first moment he saw Simon (paradoxical, still –near and far, now and then, yesterday and somehow Raphael’s known him his entire life. His soul recognized him.) head thrown back in laughter –beautiful, heartbreaking, everything Simon.

“Yes,” Raphael rasped, overwhelmed momentarily with the prospect of Simon’s grief. “If he’ll have me, I’ll be there.”

Clary grinned crookedly. The childish glee on her face made her look suddenly so young. “Oh, he’ll have you.” 

“What?”

Clary’s grin widened, all teeth and sparkling eyes. “Raphael, come on. Don’t you see the way he watches you? Do you think he doesn’t see the way _you_ watch him?”

Embarrassment barely had time to find its way to Raphael’s cheeks before she went on earnestly.

“Come on,” Clary whispered. “If you think this will ruin anything, I swear to you it won’t. I swear.”

Simon chose that moment to slide into the booth beside Raphael.

“Mocha latte for Clary,” he said grandly, “and a black coffee for Raphael –extra sugar.” Simon quickly picked up on the slightly panicked expression on Raphael’s face. “Clary, are you being an asshole?”

Her sunny grin found its way back to her face, “Oh, absolutely. I gotta go, though. Izzy’s been helping me with my roundhouse kick.”

Clary plopped a kiss onto Simon’s cheek, firmly held Raphael’s gaze, “Think about what I told you.” and sped away faster than any human had the right.

“You okay?” Simon asked, hesitantly. “She wasn’t weird, was she? She was really looking forward to meeting you, but if she said—

“Simon,” Raphael interrupted gently. “You have no need to worry. Clarissa was fine –more than fine, really. She just—

Simon titled his head questioningly, “She just what?”

A shift in the air. A tilt in the axis of the earth. A sudden sweet tension singing around them. Raphael didn’t care how ridiculous he sounded, he believed in the power of moments like these –in the fact that Simon had somehow gotten closer, in how the sounds around them ceased to exist, the gravitational pull between their bodies bringing them closer, closer still.

Raphael’s voice was low when he replied, “She gave me a lot to think about.”

“Oh?” Simon asked, too too too close, not close enough. Raphael was going to hyperventilate and die if he didn’t kiss Simon right then and there.

“Simon,” he rasped. Simon watched him struggle through hooded lids.

He hummed, questioningly, in reply. Eyes brazenly on Raphael’s lips.

“Simon, I wanna kiss you so bad.” Raphael whispered. Unadulterated want flowed through him thick like honey; he could barely get the words past his lips. “Can I? Can I please kiss you?”

In reply, Simon surged forward to catch Raphael’s lips in his –a miracle, a miracle.

Warm, like nothing else.

The permission to touch was devastating. Raphael’s hands shook slightly as they found their way to Simon’s waist, to the slightly exposed skin. There was no one, nothing else in existence, save for the slide of Simon’s lips against his, save for the way he opened his mouth against Raphael’s begging lips, the slide of their tongues, filthy, filthy –there was nothing, nothing else that mattered other than Simon’s holy hands on Raphael’s chest, sliding upwards to smooth over the soft skin of his neck, tangling tightly in the strands of his hair—

“ _Excuse me,_ ”

Raphael dislodged himself from Simon’s lips to find the red face of their barista glaring down at them.

“There are _kids_ here,” the man scream-whispered hysterically.

Simon buried his face in the juncture of Raphael’s neck and shoulder –laughing, laughing, laughing.

~*~*~*~

Time did as Time does and it moved.  

Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but it moved.

Their little family grew and with it grew magic. With it grew the Down World, and for better or for worse, the Shadow World as a whole.

“Hello,” a woman stepped forward slowly. “I’m looking for Simon and Raphael?”

 “That’s us!” Simon exclaimed, still excited despite the many times they’ve done this. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied thorough a wobbling lower lip. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where to go. My pack’s all gone and I heard about you guys from someone in—

“Hey hey hey,” Simon gathered her up into his arms and gave her a gentle hug. “You’ll tell us when you’re ready, ‘till then, there’s a hot meal waiting for you and a room that’s yours as long as you want it.”

She wiped her eyes and smiled. “Just like that?”

Simon turned back to Raphael with a grin. “Just like that.”

“If you’re feeling up to it,” Raphael said, “there are others who’d like to meet you.”

She was hesitant when she whispered, “Even wolves?”

Raphael nodded warmly, “Even wolves.”  

They watched her make her way into the hotel for while. Raphael turned to Simon.

“Have I told you I loved you today?” he asked.

Simon turned to him with the brightest smile; Raphael could already hear the old joke on his partner’s lips—

“Let’s see if you still feel that way in a hundred years or so.”

Raphael met Simon Lewis on Sunday.

They loved each other like worship, reverent and sacred.

(Despite everything, or in spite of it really, Raphael and Simon had a happy ending.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading :')


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